7/1/15

they say that hell is a fiery pit
deep underground
but i think it is a place on earth
without you,
neither red nor black
but colorless
and deceptively bright
and something I know nothing of
all the same.

7/3/15

i wish i could write beautifully
of boys with chocolate eyes
and cautious hands,
but instead my pen weeps
puddles of tears that pool
onto my paper instead of ink
and my fingers tremble,
the words twisting
like black licorice,
your favorite,
and it leaves a taste in my mouth
like acid.

7/18/15

the worst kind of distance
is sitting three feet away
from the person you love,
nothing between you but unsaid words,
broken promises,
averted eyes,
the knowledge that things
will never be the same.

7/19/15

i lied.
the worst kind of distance
is no metonymy,
it is being 3,233 miles away
from the person you love,
nothing between you but
ocean and land
and highways and cars
and people, millions,
fighting and kissing,
making up and making love,
knowing we will never be
one of them.

7/29/15

they say that heaven is a place in the clouds
high up above
but i think it is a place on earth
with you,
and here i find myself
writing beautifully of a boy
with chocolate eyes
and cautious hands
who once was mine,
but is no longer.